Morning
by Andromeda Rising
Summary: Auron was her final fantasy. [onesided Auron x Rikku] oneshot


**Morning**

**A/N: The thing that prompted this was the oddity of Rikku owning Auron's weapons in FF-X2. This oneshot takes place between X and X-2.**

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><p>"Morning." Rikku's greeting was accompanied by a slight wave of the hand to Yuna. She stopped at the landing of the stairs, and rocked back and forth on her heels. "What are you doing?"<p>

Yuna didn't reciprocate the gesture, or turn around to acknowledge Rikku. She stood by the window, not five feet away from her, looking outside at the cloudless blue sky. Rikku didn't notice how tightly Yuna was gripping the sill until she walked closer. Yuna's knuckles were white with the strain. But maybe her hands were just pale in contrast to all the black she was swathed in: a deep black velvet gown with a skirt that touched the ground and wide sleeves. A netted veil obscured the majority of her face: the only visible part was her chin. It looked like she'd raided Lulu's closet, really; the clothes were ill-fitting, too big for her petite frame.

"Morning." Yuna's voice took on that quiet, subdued tone she'd adopted of late. She didn't even try to be fake a cheerful tone.

Rikku could have said something, done something, but she didn't. Yuna didn't want to talk, that much she could tell, so she shrugged and walked away.

She realized as she was ascending the stairs, that when Yuna had said 'morning', she had meant 'mourning'. Rikku stopped midstep, and turned around. But the moment had passed, Yuna wanted to be alone, there was nothing she could do.

She sighed and made her way up the stairs. Of late they'd been stuck in a spiral going down, down, down. Even her energy levels were at a new low. She didn't sashay as she walked; rather, it was a normal walk, or as normal as one could call Rikku's walk. When she stood around, she didn't bounce on her heels, but stood perfectly still, until Brother called her a statue and shoved her so hard she was sent sprawling down.

Down, down.

But being cheerful and bouncy in the wake of recent events was just not right. Not for lack of trying, of course; she'd received looks from Buddy, Brother, Cid, and she even suspected Yuna was glaring at her from behind her veil—not that she could confirm these suspicions. She quit the act in seconds and left the room to sit in silence.

She sat in a closet of the ship. She used to be able to fit in here just fine; now she had no legroom. Either her legs were folded and jammed up against her chest, or she couldn't fit. When had her legs gotten so long?

* * *

><p>Rikku could have gone about mourning the traditional way for them, since they weren't Al Bhed and all. She could have, she thought to herself. But she didn't want to. Not out of disrespect, no siree: it was that she couldn't stand the bland colourlessness. She'd tried on something, just for fun—no, not fun, this wasn't fun, not at all—one day. A black robe. But it was made of a thick material that wrapped itself around her too tight, suffocating and constricting her, or so it felt like. The sleeves, laden with extra material, weighed her arms down and she felt like she couldn't lift them.<p>

The collar constricted her throat, and the entire ensemble dragged her down, making her look like—she thought—a drooping rose, dead and black before it had time to blossom.

_You're just a young girl,_ Auron had once told her. _Not a woman._

Was that what she was, now? A girl caught in between, dying inside out, never to mature? Had this dragged her down so?

How could Spirans stand this mourning? And the veil she was supposed to somehow attach to her head and let drape around her face—nuh uh. She was not going to touch that with a sixty-foot pole.

So she went about the Al Bhed way of mourning—at least, in dress. Garments of white—thin, light, flexible materials, ones that gave her room to move around in. You couldn't have a proper desert burial at Home in black, after all; light, white garments afforded time for the burial without frying in the sun.

No one paid much attention to her lately. Yunie, when she wasn't holed up in her suite, did not spare Rikku a word or even a look. She was wound so tightly in grief that she did not notice Rikku's dress.

They were having a memorial service for him in Luca. Not Bevelle. Luca. Strange, Rikku thought, but she didn't question it. She dressed in her pale whites and combed her hair into a ponytail and didn't look at herself in the mirror.

When Yunie did notice, she looked faintly horrified; the only part of her that was visible was her mouth, and that dropped open in what Rikku assumed was shock, and she placed a hand to her mouth automatically, and she just looked terribly awkward that way, not yanking the veil outta the way or anything, just standing there.

Wakka and Lulu were also aboard. They'd picked them up in Bevelle so they could attend the ceremony. Wakka, just as unaccustomed to dark tones as Rikku, looked just as sunken as her—but also as horrified as Yunie. Lulu looked just fine in black—but _she_ looked like a supermodel, so she could be wearing a garbage bag and still make it look good. At the sight of Rikku she just shook her head, back and forth, hand to her forehead, all _What am I gonna do with you?_ before she just turned away to place a hand on Yunie's shoulder.

_Don't put too much pressure on her shoulder!_ Rikku wanted to shout. _She might crumble..._

Kimahri remained stoic and indifferent, lips pursed in his passive and perpetual frown, but he wasn't as dismayed as the others; as a Ronso he too had different mourning customs, though he'd adjusted his to fit the Spirans. Not that he wore much more than a black loincloth, and that was hardly noticeable. She didn't scowl at him for fear that he would tip her over with one strong paw—she wouldn't have the strength to evade, or to catch herself.

She passed them all on her way to the command centre. She noted others aboard the ship—many Al Bhed—and they'd all adjusted their customs to fit those of Spira, too. Now Rikku felt vaguely troubled, a flutter in the pit of her stomach. Even her Pops gave her and up-and-down look and a shake of the head and a crossing of the arms. She pursed her lips at him and almost stuck her tongue out, but refrained from the childish display only when Brother popped in, dressed all black, which was not unusual of him, but he'd covered up all his myriad tats. She turned to him and frowned and _then_ stuck her tongue out—to which he replied by making a face, letting his mouth go slack and pulling down his eyelids. Gross.

"That's enough, you two," Pops said, like he had eyes in the back of his head, 'cause he was turned around and staring at the console but somehow knew they were making faces. They both stopped, though not without a mirrored frown, and Rikku sunk into her seat below the Captain's. This did not make her feel better or more in control than it always did, and she remembered the last time she was sitting here. Tidus came to talk to her, all troubled and frazzled; she screamed to let out her frustration. His eyeballs bugged at her. She laughed, and said it helped. He didn't try, there, but she was sure afterwards he slunk off to a remote corner of the ship to try it by himself. Maybe she should listen to her own advice for one.

She was unaware of everything, and she got up and took the elevator all the way up to the deck.

She half expected him to be standing there, like he always did, on the short walkway between the command centre and the elevator, and yet he wasn't there, though there was a ghost of a sigh and she glanced over her shoulder, seeing nothing but the door closing on her. There was no rustle of crimson.

That's the crazy thing about people who leave, she thought. You still feel them, and still see them. This had happened before, of course. When her mama died she swore that she saw her again, in the middle of the desert, one day—and she ran, ran, ran out of her Daddy's grasp, regardless of him calling her name over and over and over again, because she saw mama standing there in the sand, but when she ran at and then right through her, stumbling and taking a mouthful of sand, daddy said it was a mirage, but Rikku knew, she knew it was a ghost, knew it as much as she was flesh and blood.

_Tch. You see what you want to see._

This hadn't happened with him, who wore a monk's robe that was that particular shade of red, who hoisted a huge katana over his shoulder like it was a chocobo feather, and who the hell had their hand in a perma-sling and sunglasses to cover up scars? She wished Yunie weren't in such a state of mourning, or that Gippal hadn't left her for the Yevon-damned Crimson Squad. What was so good about them, anyway? Well, at least he hadn't joined the Crusaders—then he wouldn't only be away from her, he'd probably be on the Farplane or Yevon-forbid he would be Unsent and then he'd turn into a fiend. Then she would be much worse off than she was now, having not lost two people but three. Good things may come in threes, but she certainly hoped that bad things did not.

The deck wasn't empty. Rikku was sort of dismayed to see Yunie up there. Sort of because as much as she loved Yunie, she was impossible to be around now. If it wasn't quiet tears leaving a trail down her face, a map tracing sorrow, it was a set mouth and resolute silence. And while sometimes a few words were exchanged, some polite small talk before she closed herself away again, it was like her lips were moving and nothing was coming out, because nothing was actually being said. She tucked herself so tightly into a corner of her mind she seemed perpetually absent, staring so hard at nothing that she could have unsettled Kimahri the Stoic. Rikku felt the latter was going to happen—from what she could see, Yunie had head tipped to the sky, like she was staring at the cloudless blue sky and wondering why, why, why and not sobbing but pressing her lips together to keep from it while tears trailed down her cheeks silent as the whisper of a ghost.

Rikku joined her anyway, and was surprised when Yunie's hand—before, clasped together at her chest—dropped down to take hers in a clutch that was surprisingly strong. If Rikku wasn't wearing a glove—Yevon knows why she was wearing them, maybe habit, but she'd make sure to take them off before the ceremony—it might have crushed bone. What was she doing, trying to anchor herself to Rikku to prevent from floating away—? No, thought Rikku, the heavy materials would drag her down. She sucked in a big breath, and let it out like the air from a balloon.

Before Rikku could think of the logistics of Yunie floating away, she spoke up. "It's nice."

Rikku had no idea what Yunie was referring to. If this was small talk, à la _Nice weather today, wouldn't you agree?_ then she wouldn't know what to say, and if it was about the ceremony, then Rikku didn't know what to say times two.

Rikku bit her lip. She'd soon need chap stick, because they felt chapped and worn down from all the biting and nibbling. She didn't want scarred lips.

_What stupid things to be thinking of._

Rikku nodded, vigorously enough to be considered a reply. She saw Yunie smile—_smile_—in her peripheral vision for what seemed like the first time in an age. Rikku turned to her—and then the smile was gone, vanished, replaced by a downturn of the corners of the mouth, and maybe it was only a ghost of a smile, or Rikku had imagined it, or both. Ghosts were imaginary. They were.

If only Rikku could convince herself.

"I wish..." Yuna continued, and Rikku was sort of relieved by this, because maybe now she'd have an idea to what Yunie was speaking of. "I kind of wish there would be something like this for _him_, you know? But... no one knows what he did. That he existed."

Now Rikku didn't have to ask who he was, because she knew who he was, and it wasn't he, if that made any sense, and she'd be damned if it didn't. Nope.

"I know you miss him." Rikku fingered the lace on a sleeve, determined not to look at Yuna. "But I doubt a ceremony would make it any better."

Way to be pessimistic—which was unusual of her, if she did say so herself—but it was the truth. A ceremony held in his honour would do nothing. Nothing.

You don't raise the dead by dancing for them.

It wouldn't change the fact that he was dead—dead to begin with, and dead in the end, dead in the sense that he was good and gone and would never come back. No words that Yevon priests could say, no amount of prayer kneeling by her bed and wishing to Yevon for the first time in her life, no eulogies given by friends, no dances by Yunie to send him even if he already was, could change that, or bring him back, or make the pain go away. Dead was dead, and when you were dead, you stayed dead unless you dragged your bloody body across a field and refused, refused to Yevon and said _no no no no I'm not giving up, my time is not up,_ and then you added ten years, and you know what? You were still dead, your flesh rotting inside, your spirit itching to leave your body behind in energy. Energy that wasn't created and wasn't destroyed but was still gone.

And to Rikku, it wasn't a physical pain—at least, not one that felt like a flesh wound that could be healed with time and scabs or Curaga if she wanted to halve that time, but a kind of pain inside, not one she felt with her body, but with her mind. The kind of pain that had her waking up, or falling asleep, at inordinate hours; of staring out the windows, wondering what tomorrow was going to bring and what it wasn't, if things were ever going to change or get better or if Gippal would ever come back, or if he really was dead and never would, and how she'd seen the world and maybe her life was at its end when it was only just beginning.

She may have kept up facades, may have kept on faking jovial and bouncy and cheerful and whatever else she was known for, but when no one was around, she sat down, and stared, and thought of nothing, focusing on nothing in particular, yet feeling everything around her. And Hel if it made any sense—that he had always been dead, was always dead to begin with, and Tidus was nothing but a dream, just as dead as he, yet not dead, because how could you be dead when you weren't ever alive to begin with?

Life made no sense, it was a cross between chaos and order, tilting one way or the other at the slightest imbalance, it was unforgiving and unapologetic, and it made no sense, and at the age of sixteen Rikku discovered something that people spent most of their lives wondering, if not all of it, what the point of life was.

And the answer was, _There just isn't_. She had to deal with that truth, that there was no story written about her, nothing weaved into the Fate's contraptions, nothing preset, and nothing ever happened for a set reason. Events were a result of, a culmination of the events preceding it. She wrote her story, with her hand and her pen and her paper and her tears and her blood lining the lined pages.

These were the things she'd taken away from him—not tangible, yet more invaluable than his monk's jacket and all his katanas lined up in a row.

This knowledge in particular—she controlled her Fate, not the women weavers hidden behind clouds on their perches in the sky—that troubled her, had her walking out of her room and sitting down on the floor in the middle of the night, wondering where she was going to go and do and see.

Yunie brought her back from her pondering—something she was wont to do alone, but never around others, which again, troubled her. Maybe she'd stopped bouncing around and maybe she'd stopped tapping her heels but she didn't stop and stare.

Yuna nodded. "You're right. A ceremony wouldn't bring him back..." And for a second she held up a hand, drawing up her veil, and looked into Rikku's eyes, like searching for something in that spiral, the neverending pattern that reflected life, and maybe Al Bhed were the enlightened ones, the ones that saw what life was really like.

_There isn't a story in my eyes. Just a spiral, going up and down and up again, and we're going down right now._

It was strange to look down on Yunie, like that: Rikku had just shot up in height of late. This was one of the more trivial, and yet still as troubling, and entirely distracting, things that she'd thought about of late. She wondered if she'd outgrow Lulu, and then Wakka, and then Kimahri, ending up the eight-foot-tall giant. Maybe she'd join the circus, become the Giant Green-Eyed Freak Girl and walk around without stilts. 'Course, it was stupid to think about that because it wasn't like she could control it.

Yunie lowered the veil, and again whispered those words, her voice softer than before. "...But it would probably make it more..."

_Real. Say it. Say it._

How could you make real the death of someone who was never alive to begin with? Oh, Auron, him. Right. Things like these that made little sense had her, too, staring straight up into the clouds, letting her thoughts drift up into the sky, spiral up into oblivion. They sat down together—Yunie, letting go of her death grip on Rikku's hand—and just waited for their arrival to Luca. It came quicker than either of them would have thought; a flicker in the distance, and her peripheral vision, had Rikku looking towards the horizon. She saw Luca's pride and joy, their stadium, rising tall above all other buildings, way out in the sea over there, and pretty soon they were walking back to the elevator and filing out with everyone. Yunie had changed into her kimono, donning the clothes not because she was over her mourning period, but because she had to keep up the facade. The people did not question their saviour in a kimono. The people would question their saviour in mourning clothes. It was a simple matter of fact.

Rikku didn't feel like looking around, and kept the back of Yunie's head as a fixed point, following the crowd. Soon they were swept up, but they ended up at the front lines of the ceremony, close to him as they had been—were. Past tense, and keep it that way.

Though Rikku had never been claustrophobic she felt it, her skin too hot and itchy, her whole body overheating. At the ceremony she didn't look up at his picture, blown up on the projection screen, too afraid of what she'd see. Yunie talked and talked and talked, and Rikku knew she was the only one who caught the undertone of sorrow, the one who caught on to why her voice wavered, why her hands shook a little bit, fiddling with the beads on her sash. Rikku kept her eyes down, listened to the New Yevon priests prattle on about his worth and his honour and his selfless acts, and she was damn right: no amount of words describing his valour, his bravery, could really capture the essence of who he'd been, what he'd done, who he was, because his essense, his energy, was gone. You can't catch something you can't hold on to.

It was ridiculous to try. What kind of stupid ceremony was this, anyway? With no body to bury they just talked and talked, endless eulogies, people expressing their 'sympathy' and their 'sorry' to see someone so good go. Ha. They didn't know the half of it. They lined up flowers and sympathy cards and said their prayers, and Yunie danced. She danced a dance that could raise the dead, if you could indeed infuse them energy and make them dance.

It was all meaningless.

Even her dance, heartfelt as it was, her robes fanning out like a death flower and hair catching in the wind more than once, twirling about with her rod, and she knew the dance wasn't just for Auron, but also for Tidus, and everything they'd lost, and all the people who'd died, though Tidus at the forefront, Auron taking the back seat, and the rest was the rest; and again, the fact that the people did not know this amused her, and gave her only a grain of satisfaction, though it was malplaced and what to do with it she didn't know, so she pocketed it and hopped it would disappear with the lint on the next washing.

She never, ever wanted to see Yunie dance again. Ever.

When it was all over and done with and they walked back to the airship, Rikku felt nothing had changed. The New Yevon priests had said their eulogies, people expressed their sorrow, Yunie had danced; and it all held no meaning. It was all nice, she supposed, it was all nice that they'd honoured him, this way, so publicly and so grandly, but at the end of the day she sat on the nose of the airship, dangerously close to sliding off at the angle she was perched and at the speed they were sailing through night skies, but it made her feel alive and it was all very good.

Still, she felt no stirrings of change within her: she could have skipped it, and sat here at the end of the day, ending up in the same place at the end. No matter how she'd written this chapter, it would have ended at the same point.

She shivered in Auron's robe: she'd left the front open, and the air blew in and made her cold. No body next to her to warm her, no energy to steal. She closed it around herself to ward off the goose bumps and the biting cold that seemed to seep through her skin and go straight to her bones. Was winter so close already? Rikku felt at a disconnect from the world, like the ties that kept her chained to the earth had been severed, and maybe she just would up and float off.

_Breathe, Rikku._

She heard the door to the deck behind her slide open, and slide closed again, but no footsteps, like the person was hesitating at the threshold.

Yunie, of course.

Then there were footsteps—but light, and barefooted Rikku saw, though why Yuna tortured herself this way Rikku did not know. When she sat down, she was in a her kimono, and her veil was nowhere to be seen. Rikku hugged herself tighter, and with her eyes asked Yunie what she was doing.

Yunie looked away: to the sky, to the stars. "You were right." Each word was followed by a pause, like she was struggling to string them together. "It changed... nothing. I think it's time I stopped... stopped grieving. I should let go."

_I haven't stopped,_ was nearly as Rikku's lips, but she did not let this thought pour fourth: it was unorthodox. Usually she let whatever crossed her mind slip past her lips, not bothering to censor or check her thoughts, which got her in trouble more often than not. But this thought—it was hers, and so unlike her, and inappropriately selfish. So in response she smiled, and said, "I'm glad, Yunie."

And Yunie smiled, though it was forced and didn't reach her eyes. She was still struggling with letting go, holding on to whatever was left behind.

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><p>It was later Rikku dealt with it. Pops had gone off to Zanarkand with his ship, for what reason Rikku could not fathom. He'd said little more than, "Tough luck, tough love," to her as parting words, hopping on his ship and sailing into the sunset, leaving behind his insolent, pouting little—well, tall, now—girl.<p>

She waved and flapped her arms, screaming to his retreating form, "What am I supposed to do?" And after he boarded the airship and was flying away, again, more pronounced: "What am _I_ supposed to do?"

She looked around, all alone in Luca. The crowds were endless, though they navigated around her, like water around a rock protruding from a stream. She didn't belong. She knew she didn't belong, and that infuriated her: she kicked a nearby bench a few times before being told off by a guard, and when she ignored him he threatened to arrest her.

That's when she ran. She thought to herself what she was going to do. She had nowhere to go, no one to see, and no obligations. She hated to admit it, but she'd never felt so hopeless, not even while trying to think of a way to save Yunie. That seemed all in the past now; it had been just six months ago, but it could have been lifetimes ago. Rikku was not the Rikku that she was back then. Back then she was whole, and now she was just bits and pieces of the old her. She looked much the same, but if you looked, you could see the lines where she'd cracked and glued back together by her hands. Only that held her together. She'd never be good as new again, of course: you could see the fine lines where the glue held her together, if you looked just right.

Yunie, herself, was shopping in Luca for a dress. Rikku found her, and told her Pops had taken off, and neither of them were much sure what to do without a ride outta the city.

Lucky for them, Rikku's half-crazed Brother and a half-dead Buddy emerged with a ship all their own, that reminded her much of Gippal's stupid two-seater motorcycle, and told her to hop on if she agreed to become a Gullwing. She wasn't reluctant: it was something to do, after all. Yunie was aboard, and for a second Rikku was super excited. They were together again.

She looked happy, for once. Yes. They would become Gullwings, and spend their day hunting spheres, and it would be fun. But Yunie had to go for a bit. So they'd dropped Yunie off in Besaid to attend Wakka and Lulu's wedding. Rikku wondered how they could have gotten over their grief so easily, how they could have moved on so quickly. Maybe they were older, mature, could cope better than her—or maybe their loss hadn't been so strong. Maybe being an adult rendered you invulnerable to the damage Yunie and Rikku had suffered.

She curled up in her cramped closet, trying to keep herself together, but she felt like she'd split in half.

Maybe for them it was just a faint echo. Maybe they wanted to move on and away from grief. Yevon knew they had been in that perpetual state for a while, ever since Chappu died—which raised the question of _why_ were they in such a hurry to get married, anyway? Wasn't Lulu still sad about Chappu? But then, it had been years since Chappu's death. Rikku guessed that time had healed them, or something else. Maybe the cracks were still visible, but they covered it up with love and lies and glue and hands.

Though they'd invited her—Wakka, too, not just Lulu, and with open arms to boot—she couldn't pull herself together long enough to do it.

In the end it all came down to clothing. What a stupid, selfish, immature reason.

Each item she tried on was more uncomfortable than the next—each fabric chafing her skin, silk like sandpaper under her touch, and on her body it was all wrong—so respectfully she declined, telling Yunie to send her a sphere as a memento and wishing she could be there, but she had elsewhere to go.

She'd made up her mind about this at the very last minute, but pretended like she hadn't.

Yunie had given her a look, then, tilted head and all, and Rikku had shrugged. She didn't feel comfortable under that gaze—or even in her clothes, which was little more than a bikini and even that was uncomfortable—and shied away, and came up with the first thing that came to mind, the first word that emerged from her clouded mind, like her subconscious had drawn it there. "I'm going to Guadosalam."

And then Yunie's head untilted and her eyes became all screwy, like suddenly, she understood. "Oh. I see." Soft-voiced, as usual.

She nodded, and gave Rikku a hug, and said nothing, no good-bye, because of course this wasn't good-bye. Rikku had waved to her from the deck, and stalked into the control centre, where Brother's look of mingled horror and dismay coupled with Buddy's side-glances left her feeling completely exposed and petulant.

"What are you doing?" Brother's voice rose higher in pitch with every frantic word, and her flapped his arms around, looking much like a seagull himself. He screamed, a sort of mangled, disparaged, "Greyaaaaah!" and then said, "Where are you clothes?" As if she was standing naked.

She crossed her arms, gave him an insolent pout, and said, "It's hot," despite the AC blasting frigidly enough that the inside climate was not unlike a night in the desert. Buddy and Brother liked it cold, it seemed. She almost giggled at the stupid thought before pursing her lips and said, "And anyway, you're underdressed, too."

He was wearing loose pants and suspenders, but at least she could prey on his lack of shirt. Brother: 1, Rikku: 1.

She lost score when he let out another agitated scream that rattled her brain, she was sure. She pouted. "Fine. I'll put something on, if you'll take me to Guadosalam."

"Guadosalam? Guadosalam?" Brother's shriek made her clap her hands over her ears. He blinked. "Vhy vould I take _you_ to Guadosalam?"

Rikku swallowed. "None of your business."

"Fine, but put a coat on—cover yourselv up."

Rikku bit her lip, and dashed off to her room.

Everything felt wrong, still. All the clothes were thrown on her bed—though she frequently missed, and there were little piles along the floor of discarded clothes. Even the finer things—silk, chiffon—were piled on the ground, treated equal to cotton. And, finally, at the back of her dresser, a flash that took her off guard. But when she pulled that off and tugged it on it didn't chafe or sand or do anything. It slid on her skin, smooth as water, and though it was several sizes too big, she was able to tighten the cuffs and sort of tie the belt around her waist, though it bagged.

Too many nights she'd fallen asleep with it over her like a cover, or under her, or wrapped around her; now it carried both their scents, a mingle of both that was jarring and intoxicating all at once.

Brother predictably laughed, doubling over clutching her stomach, and had he any less self-restraint—which was admittedly little—he would have fallen over. "Who do you sink you are? Samurai varrior?" And this sent him into another fit of laughter.

She scowled, stuck out her tongue, and sat down at her own console—lower than Brother, and lower than Buddy, but it wasn't so bad down there—at least the robe kept her from shivering. She watched them soar over Spira, and recalled events, and this made the lump in her throat all the more heavy.

She'd had about enough and wandered off to the bar, asking Barkeep for a shot. He looked dubiously at her: he couldn't know the legal drinking age, could he? Did he even care? But he just said, "Yesh, Missh Rikku." And she downed the shot in a gulp, not caring what the hell it was—though from experimenting with Gippal when they pooled his parents' stash and Cids', she found it tasted like rubbing alcohol mixed with fire, but she couldn't put a name to it—but she revelled in the trail of heat it left down her throat.

She took a glass of water, and ran back down to the control centre, and watched Shinra over his shoulder. She went as far as putting her chin on his shoulder, resting her head there, to annoy him—because as mature and prodigal and genius as he was, he was still a kid, and still easily annoyed. This delighted her: now she had a younger sibling to tease, even though he was not related to her aside from being an Al Bhed. Still, it didn't keep her task off her mind, and no amounts of teasing Shinra could make her happy again. So she sat on steps, chin in hand, and stared at Spira, and waited.

When they arrived in Guadosalam, Buddy and Brother had a hard time steering down—they could only get so close. So she hopped down and into the belly of Guadosalam. It was a strange place: a city made of roots twined together. She wondered if they'd dug their home out with their Guado hands, or with magic bewitched the roots to bend to their will, or used sheer force to bend them. As she made her way in she met with a woman bedecked in an alarming amount of leather—black corset, trimmed with black leather; black skirt, lots of belts, which reminded her of Lulu; black stiletto boots, all the way up and over her knee; black belt, three guesses as to what it was made of, topped with a skull buckle, which she peered at closely for detail.

The girl crossed her arms over her chest: only then did Rikku's pry her eyes away from her flashy getup and to her face. She looked into her unusual red eyes—red as her jacket, which at first perturbed her, and her ash grey hair. She was looking Rikku up and down as if trying to decide what she was; then again, she couldn't blame the girl. Rikku wore next to nothing under the robe—a pair of shorts with a belt wider than said shorts, a bikini top, and nothing more than blue cowboy boots.

Over that she'd slung the robe, and it was still tied loosely, and leg peeked out from the folds. Her hair was a mess, too. She hadn't let anyone come near her with a pair of shears in a long time. One night, while Yunie was sitting on her bed and staring into space and Rikku sitting at its foot, flipping through a magazine, she'd seized her hair and braided and beaded small chunks. Rikku had let her plait a few strands, but grew impatient and jumpy after a few, and tied the rest of her hair up in a ponytail, and pushed it away from her face with a blue bandana. Nonetheless she felt better than she had in a long time, and gave the girl a sloppy smile. "Hi. Are you lost?"

The girl narrowed her eyes. "No. Who are you? Are you an Al Bhed?"

"Yes." Rikku rocked back and forth on her heels, and realised the implications of what that might be. Her eyes landed on the sword, sheathed on the girl's hip. "Oh." Her eyes flitted to the girl's; nervous smile, and she edged away from her. "You wouldn't happen to be an Al Bhed hater... would you?"

The girl shook her head. "No." Emotionless, but Rikku hoped she wasn't lying. "I work... worked with an Al Bhed." She supplied no further details.

Rikku tilted her head. "Where did you work?" She knew it was a stretch, but she kind of hoped she was with the Crimson Squad. She certainly looked the part, although that may have been part of the tough girl act. Still, it would be kind of cool if she randomly met this girl who worked with Gippal—did he ever say anything about her—?

"None of your business." The girl swiftly crushed Rikku's hope, though it wasn't an impossibility, seeing how nebulous the answer was. "Who are you?"

"Rikku. And you?"

The girl blinked, as if astonished, then squinted as if she'd seen her before and recognised her now, though she held it back.

"Paine." The unusual name unsettled Rikku, if only for a moment.

"So. You're lost, huh? What are you looking for?"

Paine hesitated for a second, like wondering what the loon could be after, and seemed to judge her harmless. Rikku almost smirked. "The Farplane."

"Then come with me."

Rikku pointed the way, walking alongside Paine, and pointed the way—Paine hastened ahead, without much of a thank you, but Rikku didn't pay it much mind. As she approached the entering to the Farplane she grew more reluctant to put one foot in front of the other, and he throat dried up, and she almost turned around twice. But she entered slowly, looking up at the familiar tunnel, the boughs and branches twisted and curved to create a tunnel, and then the bridge between the gap of the tunnel and he Farplane. To be going beyond that point felt wrong—there should have been a shield, invisible and impenetrable, for someone like her. And this scene brought her back to that day, still fresh on her mind, like it had been yesterday. The others had left for the Farplane while Auron had sat down to overlook the abyss—Rikku sat down opposite him, a little ways away, one leg folded over the other, idly tapping her heel against the roots.

"So, you gonna tell me why you don't wanna go to the Farplane?"

There was a long, contemplative silence that Rikku dared not break.

"The same reason as you," he said, though his voice was laden with knowledge he kept from her. "Memories are just... memories." And he laughed: a quiet, curt laugh, at some inside joke shared only with himself.

"Yeah..." She sighed, and kicked her heels against the roots that served as her perch. "Truth is, I'm kinda scared to go in. I don't really wanna see my mom." She kicked her heels again, not wistfully, but like she was trying to release whatever she was feeling into the trees—just let it go. It puzzled her, that she could see her mom again. She would have never thought this possible, a year ago. But it was only a manifestation of her memories, she reminded herself. Not the energy of her mother...

Auron said nothing. She guessed he didn't want to face his memories. She didn't how spot on she was at the time, though she wouldn't know why until later, or how much she didn't know. He just let out a mirthless cross between a grunt and chuckle. She turned and slid off with a 'hmph' before the party showed up again.

"Hey, uh, thanks for not ratting me out to Wakka earlier. I mean, you could have. Tidus nearly gave it away."

She snapped out of her reverie when someone said, "Are you all right?"

She was startled, at first, by Paine: so stoic and quiet, almost like a statue. Rikku rocked on heels. "Yeah, sure." She smiled. "I was just thinking."

Without another word Paine was off.

Rikku nodded, giving her a wide smile, and forged on, up the stairs. It felt wrong to be there, somehow, but she pushed on, stopping just short of the entrance. The Farplane was covered in what seemed like a bubble: it shone with all the colours of the rainbow. Experimentally she poked the bubble: it shifted around her finger, expanding outwards, not breaking like the bubble it looked like. First she put her hand through and an arm, and she took a step, and another step, and then she was submerged.

The buzzing of Guadosalam that sounded like it came from the insects and even the trees themselves, ceased. It was replaced by an unperturbed quiet, one that seemed to echo her every step as she walked up a slope of wood. Her eye was caught by the scenery below: giant waterfalls, so far below, and it made her stomach turn uncomfortably. She kept her eyes ahead, bouncing up, onto what seemed like a balcony, irregular stalagmites rising from the ground. She walked almost to the edge, watching the scenery fold out before her, and looking up at the sky. What did you have to do to summon someone? Recall a memory?

And then, summoned from her memory—or maybe stepping out of wherever he was in the Farplane to greet a visitor—was Auron. What she didn't expect hit her like a rock—he still looked the same. The absolute same, red cowl and all (hadn't he given her his cowl?), and it was so unexpected and sudden, and she felt the tears spring to her eyes—and her knees just gave out after a violent quake. Something caught her by the elbows, though, and righted her. She looked up—she hadn't been aware that her focus had slid down—and she blinked the tears away, hoping he wouldn't see. He righted her, though he didn't pull back. It wasn't just a memory, couldn't be.

"Look at me," he said, the first words he'd ever said to her an echo in her mind.

She looked up. Her eyes met his. He seemed unchanged by it all, though he looked from one eye to each other, like searching for something in the spirals of her irises. He let go of her elbow, and stepped back.

He had a smile on. "I thought memories were just memories."

"You big meanie! I come all the way here, and that's all you have to say?" And here she went to reach out, punch him lightly, maybe, but her fist went right through his arm. A cold that penetrated her skin and came to rest on her bone sent a reverberation of shock through her arm, zinging up and down.

He chuckled. She scowled, and crossed her arms, and realized how babyish she would look, and let them fall again.

"It's just... hard, y'know?" Rikku said, looking down, picking at invisible lint. She didn't elaborate what was hard; she didn't need to. She took in a big breath and let her arms fall to her side, swinging them. "I mean, what am I supposed to do now? Sin's gone and... and..." But Sin didn't have that much to do with it.

"The story goes on."

"You know, I thought seeing you again would make things easier." She crossed her arms. "It doesn't." She took a long pause; looked up at him. His one good eye was focused on her. "It just makes things harder."

"Did you think coming out here could solve your problems?"

She frowned. "Why else would I be here? I know I said memories are just memories, but it's more complicated than that."

"Nothing is simple as you think. Rikku, why are you here?"

"I'm mourning. Can't you tell?"

"Mourning what?"

She frowned. "Stop teasing."

"I am serious. You aren't mourning what could have been, you know."

"Oh yeah? What do you know about it?"

"You're mourning what could have never been."

"How do you know—? If you were alive, I would have—"

"Do not say it. Do not even think it."

"Why not? What's wrong with it?" By now she'd sunk to the ground, and was imperiously fisting her hands. "Hey, maybe if you were ten years younger, and if you weren't so dead, maybe, maybe..." She thumped a fist against the ground. "I don't know." And here, finally, she choked up, a tear sliding down her cheek, chased by another, and another, and another. She wasn't a story teller, not by any stretch of the imagination; she just made things up in her head, things that would never happen. If her story was her life, then it was damn boring next to her overactive imagination.

She could hear his voice, though she wasn't sure if he was speaking. "I am dead, and your story goes on. Don't let another write it for you."

Auron was her final fantasy.

And she knew—and knew that he knew, too—that she wouldn't be back. No. She couldn't come back. She had to move on. Let go of the past. She couldn't live her life between this world and the next, pining for the other, and staying in this one, on the constant edge.

She had to stay here. Move on with her life. Find something to do. Grow up. Maybe get married—though she wasn't likely to be tied down. Hey, maybe if Gippal was still alive—somewhere, she hoped, and he probably was, since he hadn't shown up on the Farplane—they could get married, because he couldn't be tied down either, and they would venture around Spira, and write their story on the road.

Yet there was another, smaller part of her that rejected that idea: one that gave way to impossible thoughts. Fleeting thoughts. She thought, for a moment, _What if Sin was still around? Then maybe I could go close to it, and go ten years back, and... and... Nah..._

Her thoughts trailed off as the greater part of her chastised that small part. _Nah. Don't be an idiot—don't wish for Sin. Don't belittle Yunie's work, all the summoners' work, don't make it meaningless. Don't be stupid._ And so she let the dead fantasies drift away in a burst of pyreflies, and gave skip to her step. Forced it. One day, it would return. Once more, she would be happy, make herself, by writing her own story.

She recalled only one conversation as she left:

They were sitting around a fire, Rikku leaning her chin on her hand, elbow digging into her knee. She looked at Auron. "Is there anything you want to do before you die?"

He looked up at her over his glasses. "Why do you ask?"

"Nearly being killed by a flan today got me thinking, I guess. I mean... there are so many things I still have to do before I die. What about you?"

He was silent.

"Oh, come on. There must have been something you, the almighty legendary guardian, has not done yet. Have you flown in an airship?... Nevermind. Oh! Have you gone skydiving?" He wouldn't look at her, eyes on the blazing embers of a dying fire. "Fallen in love?" She clapped her hands together when he looked askance. "Have you? I mean, you're old enough to have kids now, right?"

"Perhaps," Auron said. "I've had my hands full for the past ten years."

"Tidus? Hmm. Didn't know he was that bad. Well, at least he's growing up. Hm. D'you think he and Yunie'll have kids, themselves? Hey! You never answered my question."

Auron probably knew better than to act stupid. "No, I never did."

"Why? 'Cause you've committed your entire life to being a babysitter?"

"Before that, I had other things to think of."

"Hmph, well, that's a shame. But hey, you're not too old yet! After all this, we'll find you someone and you can settle down and babysit some more."

"We?"

"Of course!"

It was one of the things that would never happen, and strangely... she was okay with that. As she left the Farplane, she saw Paine, and on impulse, just like that—started another chapter. "Hey, Paine!"

She caught up to Paine just outside of Guadosalam. Paine turned, and she looked different in the light of the morning; not so dark, but bright.


End file.
